


Therapy

by BeaRyan



Category: Growing Pains - Fandom, Killjoys (TV), Revolution (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:45:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason Neville has always taken whatever life has handed him and tried to make the best of it.  Group therapy in a tree-lined suburb with a soldier from outer space and a warrior from a different apocalypse?  OK. </p><p>Written for the Revolution Second Coming. Prompt 40: They stand side by side holding hands. </p><p>Note: Mentions of Dutch Soldier and Jarlie along with Linctavia but not enough of any of them to use them as ship tags.  No whomp, but this is sweet, angst, slash, M rated, crossover fic, so let the buyer beware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

They stand side by side, hands clasped tightly, and recite the group mantra. "I am stronger than my programming and better than the things I have done.“

"Again,” encourages Doctor Seaver.

He’s pleasant and forgiving and the soldiers often have a hard time taking his advice seriously. He wouldn’t have survived the lives they’ve lived, but they all turn up here once a week, somehow, trying to become better men in this strange office nestled in a private home in a tree lined suburb. 

Lincoln is the only one who repeats the vow a second time. He has more to live for than the other two. They know it, and they try not to hate him for it. "I am stronger than my programming and better than the things I have done.“

"Good!” Doctor Seaver says with an encouraging pat on Lincoln’s back. They all take seats and he begins walking them through the steps of the meeting. They know the routine like the missions that haunt their dreams.

“Tell me about you week, Lincoln,” Doctor Seaver encourages.

“I killed a panther and a goat, but no men.”

“And Octavia?”

“Octavia is a warrior. She does what she must to protect her people.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I have no people but Octavia.” He pauses, and Jason and D'avin exchange a glance. Sometimes Lincoln has more people and usually when he does he also has more kills to report. Jason and D'avin have debated over beers if a week without a body count is a good sign for any of them. Dr. Seaver encourages respect for all life with the unwaivering conviction of a man who’s never had to fight for his. 

Dr. Seaver moves the check-in portion of the meeting over to Jason. "And what do you have to report?“

"Just some redshirts. I couldn’t make out faces.”

The doctor frowns, a cross between patronizing and understanding. “Are you carrying a firearm again?”

Jason would like to, but Miles and Monroe have said they’ll shoot him on sight if they catch him with a gun. They’re willing to use him but not to let him get the drop on them. 

"No guns. Bow and arrow only. It’s a slow and deliberate weapon. I don’t kill by impulse or anger or compulsion.“ The words even taste like bullshit as they roll of his tongue.

D'avin fake coughs to hide his laughter. Hiding a quip in a cough is one of his favorite moves when Jason’s chatting up a girl. They can’t have the women they want, not safely, and so they find others to flirt with. They walk a careful line, taking up too many roles in each others lives, confidants, competitors, and more, but there’s no one else who can handle the job. Every day of their regular lives they walk a tightrope, feigning normalcy. When they’re together they have a net. Someone who can be trusted to put a friend down; someone who won’t abandon him, leaving him to wake up and facing what he’s done. Someone who knows that death is preferable to looking in the eyes of the people you’ve hurt. 

"You have something to add, D'avin?” Dr. Seaver asks.

“Just that Jason almost killed a bartender last week.”

Jason objects, “I didn’t lose control, I was just trying to get a fair price. He tried to charge me four lunches for a beer. Four!” 

Lunch is their common currency. An army travels on its stomach and they all know the value of a meal, regardless of how they’d pay for it at home. 

Dr. Seaver scolds, “You know that you can’t attack bartenders, right Jason? Even when you think they’re trying to rip you off.”

“I’m just supposed to sit there and take it? I thought I came to you to get past all the training my father beat into me.”

Doctor Seaver corrects him. "The best we can hope for here is that you don’t hurt the people you love. Learn from Lincoln’s example. Consider dating a girl with a really big sword.“

The three soldiers burst into laughter. 

“Well, not that, unless, of course, that’s what makes you happy. Ultimately, you have to build a life that you can live contentedly.”

He’s misunderstood them and oversimplified, which is the way things often go in this strange little room. 

They aren’t homophobic; they’re warriors. The only women they can take seriously are the ones with big swords or guns. Girls who can fight. Jason remembers when Charlie was fresh from her village, a kitten alone in the woods. He’d wanted to protect her, and she’d needed him and hated him all at the same time. It was better now, and worse, too. They both knew she could take care of herself and would if she had to. They were working their way towards polite conversation, something they hadn’t mastered even before he’d been programmed. Maybe one day they could be together, but it seemed a long way off.

Jason sneaks another glance at Lincoln as he talks about Octavia’s growing skill with a spear and tries not to be jealous. What if Danny had lived and been there when Jason had attacked Charlie, the way Octavia’s brother had been with her? Would they have nursed him back to into his right mind? Would he still be afraid of himself and what he might do to her? 

The rest of the hour drags by as Lincoln talks through his training routine with Octavia and their plans for the future. They’re arming up for a move to the shore soon and Lincoln mourns that he and Octavia haven’t been able to go sooner. 

Empathy has never been one of Jason’s strong points, and from his point of view Lincoln is wallowing. Beach trip with someone who loves you and doesn’t care that you tried to kill her? Sucks to be you.

When the session ends they leave through the front door of the house, waving to Dr. Seaver’s adorably sassy children and big haired wife as they exit. Lincoln disappears immediately, and Jason and D’avin keep walking straight ahead towards their uncertain futures. At the exit to the subdivision, D’Avin’s eyes scan each direction at the crossroads. Jason lets him. They both know this route. To the right is the road to Jason’s world and to the left is D’avin’s. If they take their paths they’ll be home, back in their beds in what each assumes was the real world, in ten minutes. Straight ahead will take them to the Day’s Inn.

“What’s the plan, D’Av?” 

“Do you feel ready to face your week?” D’Avin’s trying to hide his feelings behind a soldier’s voice, booming with concern and strategy. It probably works with other people, but Jason can barely recall anything but military life. He can parse the tone and volume of grunts and sighs. It’s how he survives. Sometimes he can even use the skill to help someone else. 

“I could use a drink,” Jason answers.

“I could use three.” Then a sigh. Almost reluctantly he says, “Maybe just thirty-seven.” He can’t meet Jason’s eyes as he makes the request. 

“We can skip to thirty-seven,” Jason says. 

They ignore the main body of the hotel and walk to the back of the building, then case the dilapidated, unrentable room with its mold stained ceiling from a distance. A soldier’s habits die hard, even when they know the only thing they’re likely to find is a hotel maid and a bartender going at it. 

D’Avin takes the lead, peering through the windows then sliding one open and pulling himself up first. They’ve argued about the procedure. Jason doesn’t mind someone else making the plans but he’d rather take the risks himself. D’Avin won’t let him. 

D’Avin’s putting the flimsy chain on the door when Jason hauls himself up and into the room. 

“Close the curtains,” D’Avin orders. 

“Turn on the lights.” 

“No.” 

“You need a drink?” Jason grew up desperate for affection in a world without birth control. Anyone who would touch him gently has always been an option. The fact that his father was a homophobe just made the brush of stubble that much more enticing. D’Avin’s never said much about his past relationships.

D’Avin shakes his head, declining the alcohol. “You unarmed?” 

“They look at you kind of funny if you walk around Long Island with a longbow and a quiver on your back.”

“I meant a gun.” 

“They won’t let me have one,” Jason reminds him. 

“Mind if I pat you down?” 

“You can do anything you want to me.” The words feel needy as they slip out and Jason feels a flash of shame. Never show your weaknesses, even if the other man already knows them. 

D’Avin’s hands slide over the muscles of Jason’s shoulders and biceps, down the firm lines of his forearms and over the scarred skin of his hands. His knuckles are larger than most men’s, broken and grown thick after too many fights. D’Avin runs a thumb over the ridges there, slowly taking in the fist that’s never yet had to knock him out. 

“I could if I had to,” Jason says. “If you snap I’m putting you down.” 

D’Avin’s eyes brim with tears as he looks up. “If it’s your life or mine, swear you’ll pick yours.” 

Jason wraps a hand around D’Avin’s neck, dragging him into a kiss. A year ago the answer would have been an easy yes. Six months ago the lie would have flowed easily. Now he doubts he could sell it, not at that level. “You leave me and I will hunt you down and make you pay for it.” 

D’Avin lets the kiss ebb then rests his head against Jason’s. “I need to know you’re safe,” D’Avin says. “I need to know you could kill me if you had to.” 

“It’s not a zombie movie.” 

“Something is happening to me. Something strange.”

“Stranger than Long Island?” Jason asks. He’s been here once in his real life on a courier mission for Monroe when he was 14. It was all cracked asphalt, creeping vines and half fallen buildings like the rest of his world, nothing like the scrubbed and shiny series of perfect concrete and glass rectangles they wandered past when they were here. D’Avin’s never even heard of Earth. 

“Focus!” D’Avin orders. His voice is sharp and scared.

Jason says, “Right now you are here, with me. As long as we are together I won’t let anyone hurt you and I won’t let you hurt me.” It’s what D’Avin had whispered in his ear when they walked in on a round of Keno in the hotel bar. A nonsensical string of numbers had sent Jason into a panic. They hadn’t even made it to room 37, just a bathroom off the lobby. D’Avin had held him until the fear had passed. It was a wisp of a promise, but it was more than anyone at home could give. 

“I…” D’Avin’s eyes dart around the room. Usually they’re half drunk by the time they make it here, having just thrown back more alcohol than is probably wise and used a up a market’s worth of smiles on whatever unsuspecting woman had drawn their attention and competition in the lounge. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Jason nods. D’Av’s a top, always. He doesn’t understand the good hurt, the kind that lets you know someone’s noticed you enough to bother to touch you. Jason understands his fear, knows today’s not a day he can convince him it’s unfounded. Jason says, “Lay down on your back. Right arm behind your neck.”

D’Avin does as he’s told and Jason climbs on top of him, one strong hand clamping around D’Avin’s dominant arm, limiting his ability to strike. “I’ve got you,” he promises. 

They’re slow and deliberate. The kisses they trade are barely brushes, dragging out the time they have together. It’s not the frenzy, the desperate grasp for any touch at all that used to define them. This is an exchange, a dance, a connection. Clothing shifts and they’re skin to skin, pressing into each touch. There’s no slamming tonight, no desperate race for the peak, just a slow slide towards the end. 

When they’re finished Jason lets himself fall on top of D’Avin, curling around him and burying his face in D’Avin’s neck as D’Av’s hands cradle his body. 

“You already know, don’t you?” D’Avin asks. 

The ache settles in. He knows. What they have won’t work anymore. Jason says, “You couldn’t kill me if you had to.” 

“You couldn’t kill me either.” 

“I could drag you back to yourself,” Jason says. 

“I stabbed the last person who tried that.” 

They know each other’s stories and understand them as much as anyone ever could. The knowledge that you betrayed someone you love. The way a lover looks at you after you’ve beaten her. How willing she was to hurt you. How hard she had to hit you to stop you. 

Jason plants a quick peck on D’Avin’s shoulder, says, “It’s time to go home,” and rolls off the bed. The loneliness wraps around him before his clothes are even settled back into place. There’s really no one for him now. He’s tried, again, to let someone really know him and been rejected. It’s an old wound and having it reopened stings, but it’s a familiar pain. 

He’s already pushing aside the curtain to climb out the window when D’Avin calls from the bed, “Are you coming next week?” 

“I don’t even know how I got here this week.” 

“Come home with me.” 

The words make Jason freeze. He’s always been a lost puppy, following along on someone else’s adventure, tolerated and sent to fetch but never invited in the house.  


D’Avin continues. “I’m losing myself. I need you in my world.” His voice catches as he states his plan. “I think I’m sinking into the evil, but if I have you in it with me, maybe I can focus on you. Maybe I won’t go after Johnny and Dutch.” He reluctantly admits the last part. “And if we can’t fight it, we could be good at being bad together.” 

Jason weighs the offer, remembering the joke from his childhood. _Come to the dark side. We have cookies. _Friendship, companionship, love, they were the adult equivalent of cookies, and he’d been on too many sides to believe in a dark side. All sides were self-serving and dedicated to promoting the agenda of whoever was at the top of their pile. The best he could hope for was to grab a bit of happiness before they left his broken body in their wake.__

__“Yeah, OK,” Jason answers. Someone wants him. Someone actually requested him, not for a suicide mission but for himself. “You got a plan?”_ _

__D’Avin’s already on his feet and fastening his belt. “Always. It’s a lousy one, but it’s a plan.”_ _

__“I’m in.”_ _

__“Don’t you want to know what the plan is?” D’Avin asks._ _

__“Is it overthrowing a government armed with nuclear weapons using nothing but a hairnet and the sex appeal of two people in their forties?”_ _

__D’Avin stares at him like he’s insane, and Jason just laughs and shrugs._ _

__“If it’s better than that, then it’s not even on the list of the top five worst plans I’ve survived.”_ _

__“If I ever meet your father I’m punching him in the face.”_ _

__“I think I’d like to see that.” Jason jumps the few feet to the ground below and then turns to face D’Avin. “Can I punch your dad, too?”_ _

__D’Avin ignores the question as he focuses on his jump. They travel in silence to the intersection. One direction lead to Jason’s world and one to D’Avin’s. This is where they usually part._ _

__His hands are in his pockets, but D’Avin manages to look Jason in the eye to ask his question. “You realize you’re probably getting brainwashed again if you come with me?”_ _

__Jason zips his jacket and looks down the road that D’Avin takes home. “My dad, the Monroe Republic, the Rebels, the Patriots. Nobody’s ever asked me if I wanted in; I just begged for my life from whoever had the food. This time I’m making the choice. That’s enough.”_ _

__D’Avin grips his hand and leads the way down the road to his world. For Jason it’s an unfamiliar path to what’s probably an all too familiar result, but at least he’s not facing it alone this time._ _

**Author's Note:**

> This is hitting four fandoms, so it might help me understand the comments a little better if you mention which shows you have and haven't seen. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated. Unbeta'd and the formatting went wonky when I copied it over from Drive, so if something seems off please let me know.


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